


The Last Straw

by coffeestainsfoggeduppanes



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Andy Murray questions his life choices, Attempt at Humor, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, I don't know what else to tag, I had to mention Domi cause I love him so much, M/M, Novak is an idiot, Pining, Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal (implied but obvious), Roger and Rafa are giggly schoolgirls, Sascha is a tennis nerd, Scheming, Tennis being cancelled means more tennis fics, a decade of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeestainsfoggeduppanes/pseuds/coffeestainsfoggeduppanes
Summary: Novak Djokovic can only handle so many things, and the serious lack of an actual #Fedal is not one of them.Poor Andy Murray gets dragged into yet another one of Novak's crazy schemes: Get Roger and Rafa together!
Relationships: Novak Djokovic & Andy Murray, Novak Djokovic/Andy Murray, Roger Federer & Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 18
Kudos: 51





	The Last Straw

**Author's Note:**

> Hope y'all staying safe in this quarantine and re-watching match highlights.  
> .  
> Dumbass + Tired Boi (TM) ships are my fave.

There are some things that the human body just cannot handle.

Splits that rip open thighs to save a return? He can handle.

A gruelling six hours against Rafael Nadal? He can handle.

Fifteen years of standing on the sidelines and watching two of the world’s greatest players pine over each other like fidgety teenagers?

Even World Number 1 Novak Djokovic has his limits.

“Oh my god, they just don’t _stop_.” Novak groans exasperatedly as he glares at the culprits in question. Look at them, all smiles and giggles on the open court. Like they’re the only two people in the world and tennis was nothing but a fun date idea.

Sascha whistles, slapping the Serbian’s back playfully. “Come on, you’re here practising, too. Can’t stop now, right?”

Novak wondered if internal screaming can actually leak out, because he was dangerously on the verge of doing so.

_Can no one else see this?!_

They just held hands! Look at them! Sure, Federer was passing him a racquet but don’t pretend their fingers didn’t intertwine for a whole two seconds!

If Novak didn’t make a private Twitter account just to stalk Fedal fan pages twelve years ago for this exact reason, he might’ve just gone insane. Seriously, it was like he was in the Matrix or something. Some alternate timeline that is _literally_ the worst one.

“Sascha,” Novak calls out decisively, and the young German snapped to attention.

“Yeah?”

With a deep frown, he points to Nadal and Roger, now discussing movements and pretending that their arm caresses were part of the demonstrations. “What are they doing?”

Sascha’s eyes lit up, the same kind of energy as a schoolboy who knew the answer to a math question was radiating off of him. “Rafa is demonstrating the flow-through of his backhand.”

Oh, bless his heart—ever the NextGen kid.

Novak did that thing when he was annoyed, smashing his lips together and nodding, “Yup, yeah, okay.”

Zverev grinned, blissfully unaware—just like how _everyone else_ seems to be—of the sheer amount of _torture_ Djokovic was in. He honestly could not tell if he’d rather the elbow injury again.

~

Novak could pinpoint the exact moment his entire worldview deconstructed and fell apart: 2008, the glorious Wimbledon final. Literally everyone and anyone who cared about tennis knew about this match. It was famous. Maybe for different reasons to Novak, but famous, nonetheless. It was all so minute, that even the eagle-eyed Serbian had to do a double-take, rewind the tape and watch it again and again till his head hurt. Just the way they _looked_ at each other. Rafa’s hand on Roger’s back, not touching, but _squeezing_ him, clutching on before that reluctant break-away. Then arms met bodies again, totally unnecessary now that they’ve reached the umpire’s chair for the final handshake. And the trophy ceremony, oh my _god_ the trophy ceremony. Roger holding Rafa’s face, the back of his head. Sliding down his neck, shoulder, arm.

It was caught on _camera_ for god’s sake!

And no one, no one at all made any comment on it.

Guess people were too focused on the tennis?

And let’s get this clear: Novak couldn’t care less if the two started dating, fucking, whatever. It’s their life, they can be with whoever makes them happy. But for the love of all things right in the world, he can slice through their tension with a knife and he can only go through so many locker rooms before he has a nervous breakdown. He just needs them to _get together_ already. And stop this strange, will-they-won’t-they narrative that has dragged on longer than Rosewell’s career.

Sometimes, Novak wondered if people were pranking him. Like everyone was well-aware and he just wasn’t in on the joke. Especially following the 2017 Laver Cup—come on, a few suspicions _had_ to have risen from there. Right? It was a literal lovefest.

Or maybe it was all Nadal and Roger’s doing? Damn, they really took their rivalry with him to a whole other level.

Just then, Roger and Rafa rested their foreheads together in a whispering session that had them in fits of laughter. Next to him, the young German quipped about how he wished his tennis rivals were that fun to be around, muttering something about long-haired Greeks. This wouldn’t be the first time Novak wondered if he was the only smart one on the tour. It really didn’t seem to be so far-fetched at the moment.

~

Murray was honestly enjoying his evening off after his withdrawal from the season. Sitting with a good book by the fire and just prepping for his flight home in a few days, he felt good that he had put himself first. 2020, after all, is the year we follow Meghan Markle’s example and set healthy boundaries for ourselves. But then he spotted the frowning Serb stomping his way through the hotel lobby in that ugly green shirt of his and knew that his ‘at peace’ badge on the Headspace app was going to be revoked. He knew what this could only mean—something has happened with Rafa and Federer again. Murray closed his book and pre-emptively rubbed his temples for the headache he knew was going to come. “Sorry, Meghan,” he muttered, just as Novak stood over him. “Novak, to what do I owe the displeasure?”

Novak gave him a mocking smile before uninvitedly plopping himself down next to the Brit. Andy shifted to the side to accommodate the brooding figure anyway.

“Is there anything—” He tried to start but Djokovic just always had to have the upper hand.

“We have to do something.”

“About...?” Murray picked at his eyebrow. He knew what about, but he always held onto the hope that one day, Djokovic would approach him to talk about something else. Like maybe an invite to a dinner party. You know, something nice like that.

Well, nobody ever said luck was on Andy’s side.

“You know what!” Novak snapped, before lowering his volume by five decibels, “ _Rafa and Roger_.”

Andy breathed in, breathed out. Counted to ten and regretted for the millionth time the late-night drinking and oversharing sessions he had with Djokovic. He would give up alcohol at this very second if it meant taking back his admittance that there was such a thing as ‘Fedal’.

“What now? They danced together and no one but you saw them?”

Novak hissed, “I saw them! I did! They thought no one was in that locker room but I walked in and they were swaying to ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry!’”

Murray is tired. So very, very tired.

“What do you want to do then?” He braced himself for another lengthy rant. He’s just glad there wasn’t a place to plug a PowerPoint in.

“I want to get them together.”

Something in Novak’s voice sounded deadly serious.

_God, not again._

“I would be ten times richer if I got a dollar every time you said that.”

“No, I’m serious this time!” Novak insists, sitting on his toes like an overly excited child. “It’s been more than a decade! They _need_ our help, Andy.”

The Brit scoffed, “I’m sorry, _our_ help? I refuse to be a part of this.”

“You and I are both suffering here.” Djokovic gave him a pointed look.

True. 

Andy stopped counting the number of times he walked in on some ‘moment’ between Roger and Nadal, sometimes stopping himself too late and having to endure the painful awkwardness that arose from it. Once, he scurried into a locker to avoid being seen, as if _he_ was the one with something to hide. It was the most embarrassing thing, having to explain to security how he locked himself into Thiem’s locker by accident. They didn’t believe his ‘I was looking for the bathroom’ story. He’s a good kid that Dominic, never asked any questions. Kinda looked awed, honestly.

Djokovic stared him down harder, “I think twelve years is enough. Don’t you?”

Murray was on the brink of it, Novak could tell. He played enough finals with the Brit to know when he was starting to waver.

“Remember when you had to jump into a flowerpot to—”

“Okay!” Murray finally relented, much to the patronising triumph of Novak. “What are we supposed to do anyway?”

Novak opened his arms, smug confidence dripping off of him, “Come on, we’re the Big Four. We’ve beaten them before, we can do it again right?”

~

Of course, Murphy’s Law still existed. Murray had to search it up to make sure, but yup, it was still there. Still in this universe, where _nothing_ was going to plan, and _everything_ was going wrong.

Hinting it to either Federer or Nadal was, obviously, useless. You don’t go twelve years doing absolutely nothing to progress a relationship without at least some willpower in denial, after all. The conversations either veered very off-course, or into some weird admiration rally between the two legends that Andy and Novak could just about gag over.

“Rogi? Si, I like him very much.” Nadal grinned, suddenly forgetting his lunch of rice and fish which he usually wolfed down in thirty seconds flat. “He is unbelievable, no?”

Andy had a headache trying not to roll his eyes.

Roger took his time to answer between his practice returns, something giddy in his voice and backhand. “Yeah, Rafa is the best. I love that guy.”

Novak just about pulled the eyeballs out of his sockets.

And trying to get the two together for some kind of date thing was proving even more difficult. Turns out they went on private dinners and to movies together all the time, so nothing really propelled them forward. This discovery, by the way, has just been fuelling Djokovic’s resolve and Murray’s patience was wearing terrifyingly thin with the third PowerPoint he has seen that week. He used to think doing stakeouts was fun, but with Djokovic basically shouting at every single movement, Murray was beginning to feel his love for detective dramas wane. Just a little.

And of course, they couldn’t just tell them outright.

 _Could_ they?

“I’m sorry, I thought you just said, ‘I’m the biggest idiot in the world’, because that’s what _I_ heard.” Murray spat, leaving Novak red-faced.

“Andy, come on, what other choice do we have?” The Serbian pleaded, “Come on, we left love letters in their lockers and they thanked each other.”

Murray sighed into his palms, still in disbelief at how that literally happened. 

“We can’t just up and tell them they’re in love with each other.” Murray was trying to be the voice of reason. He usually was between the two of them.

“And why not?”

He looked incredulously at Novak. “I am actually contemplating your IQ levels right now.”

“Andy!” Novak cried, trying to take control of the conversation, “We’ll just mention it in passing. Just spell it out for them so they can finally do something about it.” Murray bit his lip and Djokovic pushed that little further, “What is going to happen to us anyway?”

Andy weighed up his options.

Telling Rafa and Roger; It can either go really, really well or really, really bad. Either way, he was going to suffer from extreme embarrassment or extreme embarrassment, but this time from them actually acting like a couple.

Or he could just _not_ tell them. I mean, he’s endured twelve years, what’s another... God, when would any of them actually retire? Will they still act like this even after they hung up their racquets for good? What if they pull a Vahaly and only come out ten years after they leave? Murray blanched at the thought.

“Fine, but you’re the one doing it.”

Andy has always hated Novak’s fist pumps.

~

Novak is sure about many things. Sometimes he wavered—as was human nature—but when he was sure he was going to win a match, he usually did.

Right now, he wasn’t sure of anything.

Especially not at this very second, sitting in front of Roger and Rafa (both of whom were having a grand time, by the way, just chatting easily with each other), with Murray beside him and the incriminating words on the tip of his tongue.

_‘You’re both in love with each other.’_

He has to find a way to fit it in. Naturally. Really roll with it. Then leave. Hurriedly.

Murray already looked like he was about to turn and book it. 

Djokovic thought about telling them individually as to avoid the aftermath of the two of them looking at each other and the emotions of it all. But saying it to Roger seemed a bit too intimidating. And while he respected the Spaniard immensely, his poorer grasp on English made it just a little easier than the fluent-in-nine-languages Federer. God only knows what Federer would say to him.

Then again, Nadal could probably kill Novak with those arms of his...

“Novak?”

The Serb snapped to attention as his name, “Yes, sorry, what?”

Federer chuckled, “Distracted before the big game, Djoker? Rafa was asking if you’re all right.”

Nadal did genuinely look concerned, “Is all okay?”

‘You’re in love with each other.’

Is what Djokovic _wants_ to say, but instead he shakes his head. “Uh, yeah,” he answers weakly, “Yeah, all good.”

Literally no one is convinced. Even the waitress who puts down their water bottles gives him a sympathetic glance.

Murray’s knee was bouncing erratically. Novak knew he had to bring it home, and soon—Andy was paling with every second.

Novak cleared his throat. “Roger. Rafa.”

The two politely gave him their attention.

He felt like he was giving an intervention. And, well, he _was_ , but it didn’t feel any less awkward.

Novak cleared his throat again. “Andy and I...”

The Brit shot him a glare.

“ _Thought_ ,” Djokovic held steadfast, “That you both would to like to... _should_ know something.”

Andy buried his face in his hands. What ever happened to _subtlety_?

“I think it’s time that you both know that...”

A pause.

Too long of a pause.

Why is there a pause?

Murray looked exasperatedly at Novak who, because this is the most stressed he has ever been in his entire life, was completely malfunctioning. He was frozen, mid-sentence, hands suspended.

“Novak,” Andy hissed, but that just earns him a glare from the Serb.

“You tell them then,” He hisses back, as if the ‘them’ weren’t right there, looking more and more amused as the seconds go by. Well, Rafa looks more confused, but he usually is, anyway, the sweet dumbass.

“We are _not_ doing this now,” Murray warns, voice dangerously icy. He’s talking about their impending quarrel, of course, and not the intervention with Nadal and Roger, but Novak didn’t know that.

“If not now, then when?” Djokovic snaps back and Andy looks more than a little offended at his tone.

“ _Novak_ ,” He says again, gritting his teeth.

The two stare each other down, not willing to budge.

Roger’s sigh finally alleviates the situation.

“Okay, okay, look we get it. It’s fine.”

Murray is the first to break, “What?”

Roger gives him a lazy smile, stretching his arms as he stands and helps Rafa to his feet. “It’s okay Andy, we know all about it.”

The Brit flushed red.

“Is obvious, no?” Rafa nods sagely, “Since, uh, US Open. 2012, si?”

Novak finally comes to his senses, “What?”—just not by much.

Roger and Rafa look fondly at the two of them, like parents do after taking photos of their kids on prom night. “We’re really happy you decided to tell us. We’ll be supporting you.”

Rafa grins, “Si. Always here for you, no? Like you for us.”

“Honestly, it’s about time, too,” Roger admits, “Do you know how awkward it has been these past eight years?” Rafa and Roger smiled at each other, and Novak will swear up and down that they held hands—even just for a split second. “Glad you both finally realised.”

Before the latter two could even process what was going on, Nadal and Federer whisked away, giggling to each other and sighing in relief about something or “finally” or other.

“What do you mean?” Novak finally blurts out, “Roger! What do you mean!”

But it was to no avail, the Swiss and Spaniard long out of earshot.

“What the hell was that about?” Novak has encountered a lot of strange things in his life (Monfils being one of them) but that just took the cake.

Murray looked at him like he was stupid, an expression that Novak was no stranger to. “Do you really have no idea?” The Brit exhaled, so exaggeratedly that Djokovic would not have been surprised if he deflated like a balloon.

“What do you mean?” Novak pleads this time, desperately confused.

“God, you’re actually worse than the both of them.” Andy mutters, jamming his knuckles into mouth to keep himself from screaming.

Novak bristled. He hated being compared to the Big Two, especially by his fellow player who knows how it feels like.

“Oh, I’m sorry I’m not as _great_ as the two of them,” Djokovic says bitterly.

Andy looked up to the heavens with such incredulity the angels turned the other way. “You’re actually so _dumb_.” He groans, before mumbling something about “why him” and “falling”.

“Andy, I’m so lost right now.” Novak softens, hoping to gain some sympathy from the Brit. “Just tell me, what is going on?”

“Oh nothing, just exactly what has been going on for the past decade.” Andy’s dry British sarcasm really got on Djokovic’s nerves sometimes.

“You’re impossible,” The Serb grumbles, “Whatever, let’s just get back on track.”

“Oh yes, of course, let’s focus on _other_ people’s love lives, why don’t we?” Murray mocked.

Novak furrowed his eyebrows at him, “Isn’t that the whole point? Who else’s love lives are we talking about, ah?”

But if fourteen years by his side taught Andy anything, it was patience. Breathe in, breathe out. Count to ten. There’s a reason you’re stuck. This was just one of them. 

“Okay, fine, let’s go and tell Roger and Rafa to fuck already.” Murray conceded, although from the looks of the last five minutes, they were three steps ahead of them (as usual).

Djokovic grinned, slapping Andy on the back, “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!”

Murray lets the weight of Novak’s arm across his shoulder ground him. He’s waited this long, right? If Novak can muster up the courage to confront Roger and Rafa after twelve years, what’s another year for Andy? Besides, from their albeit one-sided conversation with Roger and Rafa today, they’ve already won half the battle. Even if that battle seems to be going backwards.

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline to clear up all the numbers (I literally made this for myself cause I kept losing track when I was writing T_T):  
> .
> 
> \- Murray and Djokovic had their first professional match in 2006 (so by his side for 14 years)  
> \- Murray fell for Djokovic in the 2008 Cincinnati Finals (so it’s been 12 years since)  
> \- Djokovic notices Rafa and Roger’s feelings during the 2008 Wimbledon final (so 12 years of Fedal torture)  
> \- Rafa and Roger realise Murray’s feelings for Djoker after the 2012 US Open (so 8 years of awkwardness)  
> \- Djokovic decides to help Rafa and Roger in 2020 (so 12 years later to build his confidence)  
> \- Murray is hoping 2020 will bring this to light (so just one more year (2020) of waiting for Novak to get it into his thick skull already)


End file.
